


Tell You If Your Sin's Original

by Memories_of_the_Shadows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Cute But Scary, Diplomatic Hawke, F/F, Humor, Not Canon Compliant, POV Solas, Prayer, THAT couple, Trickster Gods, names have power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memories_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Memories_of_the_Shadows
Summary: Merrill takes his name in vain again.  That pinch,again.  He’s going to blame Ashabella’nar for this, that bitch, he just knows this is her fault.  It has her signature all over it like the vallaslin on Merrill’s face.





	Tell You If Your Sin's Original

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "The Vatican Rag" by Tom Lehrer. I know the Vatican is more the Chantry's speed, but the humor behind it is definitely the feel I wanted for this fic.

“May the Dread Wolf take you!” screams the deceptively sweet-looking, little, Dalish mage as she grows plants right through the poor Templar’s body and he feels it like a pinch to the ear, the brief ‘pay attention to me!’ that that moniker always has when called the right way. He winces, though not just because of that. Solas has little love for the order, but that is a painful way to die. Afanen Hawke sighs, a smile on her lips and her eyes following Merrill’s every graceful move.

The woman is out of mana, but she is apparently much stronger than she looks, as another Templar finds out with a cracked skull. Solas winces. Merrill takes his name in vain again. That pinch, _again_. He’s going to blame Ashabella’nar for this, that bitch, he just knows this is her fault. It has her signature all over it like the vallaslin on Merrill’s face.

“Does she always do that?” he asks, and Hawke giggles briefly as Merrill waves at her from across the battlefield.

“What? Oh, no, she’s normally better at conserving mana,” she says, wiggling her fingers back at Merrill, her smile widening and turning distinctly saccharine. Solas wonders what he did to the Inquisitor to deserve this assignment. Surely they would stop flirting sometime soon?

“Not that.” He tries not to sound impatient. Long weeks on the road with the two of them has shown that is the best way to set off Hawke’s temper short of insulting Merrill. “The calling on the Dread Wolf, to assist her in battle?” If she does, that would explain a lot about the past five or six years. A _lot_. He’s not sure he’ll be able to forgive her for the numerous sleepless nights and interrupted spells.

“Oh, yes. Honestly, I’m not sure she considers it a battle if she doesn’t. Why?” Hawke’s eyes are sharp when she glances at him, wary as ever for a threat to her utterly terrifying blood mage life partner. Solas wonders if Hawke is actually sane enough to assist the Inquisitor. Anyone who would threaten that girl after seeing her fight must be so desperate or suicidal that they may as well be dead already. Solas has _plans_ , thank you very much. Corypheus will not have the mark. It will not be attached to the Inquisitor forever.

He does not say that. “Strange god for a Dalish to call on,” he says instead. 

Hawke waves vaguely at him, gaze drawn back to where Merrill is picking the Templars clean of everything she can carry. The Inquisitor does the same thing. Solas _does not understand it_. “I don’t know anything about it. It makes Merrill happy, so I don’t question it. You could ask her? Merrill loves talking to Dalish about their culture.”

Solas _cannot_ ask her. Sweet as she seems, ignorant of many things as she seems, Merrill is still the most likely to know where Solas’ true interest lies. She is likely the only one who _could_ , having delved far deeper into elvhen lore than any of her fellows would. Or even could, aided as she was by Mythal’s earthly container and that damnable Pride who sought to blackmail him for not releasing it sooner. “I’m not Dalish,” he says instead. Not exactly a lie. He’s something far older.

“Doesn’t matter.” Hawke shrugs, before holding her arms out to grab Merrill in a fierce hug, twirling the woman around until she squeaks. Solas doesn’t want to think it’s cute because Merrill is utterly _horrifying_ , but he’s been dream-walking in the Fade too long. Even fearlings can be cute sometimes, especially the ones that prefer nobles’ insipid, small fears to anything else. (The ones that prey on children are almost as terrifying as Merrill, partly, he assumes, because children are so much closer to their primal fears than adults; especially adults who have never had a true reason to fear a moment in their life.)

“What are we talking about?” Merrill asks brightly. “Ooo, I wonder what we should have for dinner!”

“Nothing,” Solas says before Hawke can say anything. Her impressive jaw sets but she doesn’t contradict him.

“We can have whatever you want for dinner, Merrill, love,” Hawke says, glaring at him, and Solas resigns himself to trying to keep down whatever half-remembered recipe Merrill tries to make palatable. Maybe the Inquisitor will have forgiven him for whatever it is that he’d done by the time they get back to Skyhold. One can only hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Please just imagine Merrill grabbing Solas by the ear in the dreaded grandma pinch, I know I did. That's not what actually happens but its probably the better version XD. I've always liked the idea of names having power and this was a logical progression at five in the morning, so yes. Sleep did not take away my love for this idea and here we are. I hope everyone enjoys.
> 
> Please visit me at my [tumblr](https://sachinighte.tumblr.com/)!


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